


Morning Light

by StarvingMe



Series: Inqed Words [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, The Inquisitor makes breakfast, because that's what I do, this is more fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4490109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarvingMe/pseuds/StarvingMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor makes breakfast for Wordsmith, to repay her for the kindness she's been shown.  Poor angel's memories are a little... misplaced, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zaidnovi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaidnovi/gifts).



Red eyes flashed open as the dawn light filtered through the open curtains.  She was almost certain she’d closed them last night as she got ready for bed, but there they were, pouring light over her as she glowered at them.  A quick flick of her wrists yanked the curtains closed as the Wordsmith rolled back over, about to slip back to sleep when the door to her bedroom opened.

She only barely remembered her houseguest as she heard the footsteps and the clatter of dishware.  A foot met with the leg of a chair in the dark as the angel yelped, hopping for a moment before she regained her balance, making her way over to the demon’s bed.

“U-um…  I… I made you breakfast, Wordsmith,” she said softly, holding the tray in front of her. She’d tried to let the demon sleep—it had been a rough night, by the looks of things—but she didn’t want the food to get too cold…

Sighing, one red eye opened to narrow at the angel before she grudgingly sat up.  Well, this was… new… She could probably get used to this, nice meals, breakfast in bed… Her gaze flicked to the clock next to her bedside, frowning at the time.  Might have to teach the angel a new schedule… but it was the thought that counts, right?

Well, that’s what she told herself as she stared down at the stack of waffles.  She looked up at the Inquisitor, watching as that proud smile slowly slipped and changed to one of confusion, looking from the plate to the Wordsmith and back again.  She swallowed heavily, biting her lip.  “I… they’re waffles…  I um… I got the strawberries down at the… the market… and the b-batter… is really easy to… to make…” she said, her voice trailing off as she started to doubt her cooking skills.  “Your… neighbor was nice enough to… lend me his waffle-maker…”

“It’s okay, Inquisitor,” Wordsmith mumbled tiredly, picking up the cup of coffee, sipping it tentatively, “I just don’t care much for waffles…”

The sudden change that came over the Inquisitor could have sent the demon reeling if she hadn’t already been leaning back in bed.  She looked like someone had slapped her, standing there in stunned silence before she managed to get her voice to work again, stammering, “O-oh… Right…”  She looked unsure for a few moments, if she should leave or if she should stay, biting her lip before quickly grabbing the plate off the tray, turning away with a quick apology as she all but ran from the dark room.

Blinking at the sudden departure, Wordsmith gave a soft sigh, shaking her head.  Finishing the last of the coffee, she set the tray aside as she rose from bed, pulling on her dressing robe as she stepped out of her room to walk towards the kitchen.

There, she found the Inquisitor leaning over the sink, trying to scrape the offending food into the disposal as she sniffled loudly.  Approaching her slowly from behind as she slowly stretched, she listened to the Inquisitor’s mumblings, frowning.

“So stupid…  I should’ve known that…  No wonder I had to borrow a waffle iron… Should’ve just gone with the pancakes…”  Then she stiffened at that, almost wailing in despair.  “Does she like  _pancakes_? I don’t remember!  Why can’t I remember?!”

Arms encircled her waist as she jumped nearly out of her skin, making her sputter and stammer to a stop as the demon gently stilled her hands, stopping their scraping and letting her calm down a little.  Her face flushed red as the angel tried to force down the tears again.  When she had a moment to gather herself, Wordsmith just said gently, “I like french toast just fine…”

The Inquisitor’s mind immediately went buzzing at that, frowning deeply before she said quietly, “I…  I don’t know how to go to France to get some…”

The silence was almost deafening before she felt a weight on her shoulder.  Turning to look, she blinked tears away as she watched Wordsmith struggle not to laugh.  The look on her face must’ve been even funnier, because a hearty laugh escaped before the demon could stop it, shaking her head.  “I promise, Angel,” she said as she finally calmed down again, “we don’t  _have_  to go to France for it…”


End file.
